


The Measure of a Man

by Kroki_Refur



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-26
Updated: 2007-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27493642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kroki_Refur/pseuds/Kroki_Refur
Summary: They're running out of time, and Sam's only got one idea left.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	The Measure of a Man

When he finally gets the answer he’s been hoping for, the only thing Sam can think as he bends down is _Jesus, did you have to pick someone so short? You’re too short._  
  
The next thing he thinks is _I’m too tall_.  
  
\----  
  
When Sam Winchester is five years old, he hides in a culvert. It’s like playing hide-and-go-seek, that’s what Dean says, _just keep quiet and stay still, Sammy, I’ll come get you when the game’s over_. Sam wants Dean to stay with him, he’s scared; Dad’s voice was rough when he said they had to go, and Dean’s acting funny, and it’s not like hide-and-go-seek, not like a game at all. But Dean shushes him and disappears, Dean’s too big to fit in the culvert anyway.  
  
Sam wishes he was bigger, because Dean says he’s going to hide, too, but Sam thinks maybe Dad needs help, maybe Dean’s going to help Dad. Dean can do that, because he’s big; Sam wants to be big, too.  
  
Instead, he does what Dean says, and pretends he’s not even there.  
  
\----  
  
The thing is, there’s no way to break a deal unless it’s dissolved, and it can only be dissolved by the party that hasn’t yet received their goods and/or services. Sam knows that; he knows it from studying law, and he knows it from studying lore. Werewolves, vampires, ghosts, he can fight them, they’re _entities_ , strong, maybe, but breakable; deals, now, that’s another matter.  
  
The only way to break a deal is to dissolve it, and that – that’s not in Sam’s power to do.  
  
\----  
  
Sam’s got a friend, Jason, who’s really cool, not as cool as Dean, obviously, but, you know, cool. Jason’s parents are cool, too, they let Sam and Jason play video games for an hour before dinner, and Sam’s never even seen a computer as awesome as Jason’s before, let alone touched one. Jason’s taller than Sam, but that’s OK; Sam’s used to being the short one, anyway.  
  
There are marks on the frame of the living room door in Jason’s house. One’s at eye-height for Sam, one a little higher, a few lower. He asks what they are and Jason grins and tells him that’s how tall he was, _four, five, six years old_. Sam stares, fingers the marks; _this was me, before. This is me, now_.  
  
When Sam gets home, he asks Dad if they can make a mark on the door of their motel room to show how tall Sam is. Dad stares at him like he’s insane, says they’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks, anyway, says they shouldn’t leave traces behind.  
  
That night, Dean catches Sam out of bed at three in the morning; Dad’s out, and Sam’s fiddling with a pencil and a book, trying to reach behind his head to the doorpost. Dean finds a marker and draws a line, writes _SAMMY_ next to it in careful letters. Afterwards, Sam stares, tracing the letters in the dim light until Dean yells at him to get his ass back to bed.  
  
They leave a couple of weeks later, and they leave almost no traces behind.  
  
\----  
  
Sam has no idea what a soul is worth. No, that’s not true – he knows what a soul is worth to _him_ , knows the worth of his own soul ( _of Dean’s soul_ ), but that’s not what’s important here. He’s not the one who’s still owed something; he’s not the one who made the deal.  
  
It’s stupid, he thinks, arrogant, maybe egomaniacal. It’s also his only chance, and there’s no way in hell (pun fucking intended) that he’s letting it pass him by.  
  
\----  
  
Sam’s thirteen when he starts to grow so fast that it hurts. It’s like one day he’s _Sammy_ , puppy fat and round cheeks ( _adorable_ , that’s what the waitresses always say), and the next, he’s _Sam_ , awkward and clumsy and seeing a stranger’s face when he looks in the mirror. Waitresses don’t coo at him any more, and although he’d pretty much hated it the last few years, the way their eyes skate over him now makes him feel like maybe he’s just not there at all.   
  
The growing pains are a bitch, sometimes so bad Dad has to let him off training. Normally, Sam would be pleased, but when Dean and Dad come in sweating and laughing about something and he’s curled up in bed, gritting his teeth against the aching and desperate not to give in to tears, it’s just one more way that he’s failed at being a Winchester. He’s always wanted to be big, as tall as Dean, as tall as Dad maybe even, but now he’s realised that it wasn’t his height that was the problem after all.  
  
\----  
  
The good thing about crossroads is that every town has them. The bad thing is that these days, they’re mostly covered in asphalt, and breaking through that stuff isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Sam needs an intersection of two dirt roads, and they’re cruising through New York fucking City.   
  
Timing is everything. Sam’s timing sucks.  
  
\----  
  
Sam’s a target.  
  
He might as well have a bullseye painted on his back, or at least that’s what Dad says. He stands head and shoulders above any crowd he’s in, looms over witnesses, doesn’t fit under the bed or in the closet or any of the places that used to be safe, the places Dean used to tell him to run to. He _can_ run now, fast, which he supposes is typical – his height gives him an advantage when they’re running away, Sam Winchester, heroic to the end. Even after his growing slows down and he gets used to his new body, his centre of gravity is high enough that it’s easy for him to get knocked off balance, and he does, again and again, sprawling on his back in the dirt when sparring, playing basketball, hunting.  
  
He’s too tall, that’s the problem. He hunches his shoulders, pulls in his head, slouches as much as he can, but he’s always going to be too tall.  
  
\----  
  
There’s only ten days to go when they finally pull into a little town that’s got what Sam needs, and Sam’s fingers have been itching for weeks. They don’t talk about it, they haven’t since Sam finally reached the conclusion that this was the only option. If Dean’s suspicious of Sam’s uncharacteristic silence on the matter, he doesn’t say anything about it.  
  
Sam knows it’s an omen when he kneels to salt the doorway of their motel room and finds himself looking at his own name, blurred and faded, written in marker on the doorframe. He runs his fingers over it again. _SAMMY_ , it says, but he reads _I was here_.  
  
Dean asks what he’s doing, and Sam thinks of the bag of graveyard dirt he’s got hidden at the bottom of his duffle and doesn’t say a word.  
  
\----  
  
The first thing Sam’s roommate says to him is _wow, you’re tall_ , like Sam doesn’t fucking _know_ that, and that’s the way it goes on. After the second day of classes, he shifts from the front of the room to the back after hearing a girl complain to her friends about _that gigantic freak blocking my view_ , and even though there’s no-one behind him, he slouches down, hoping that no-one will look his way.   
  
He gives up going to parties after two weeks, tired of drunken frat-boys pointing at him and telling him how _tall_ he is, and hunches over a desk in the library instead (because he can’t fit his knees under the one in his room), pretending to study, being very careful not to think about what name he might give to the swirling ache in his stomach.  
  
He’s been there six and a half weeks when he runs into someone outside his dorm and nearly sends her flying. He’s apologising immediately, backing up, looking for somewhere to hide, but she’s laughing at him, smiling, holding out her hand. She asks him his name, tells him hers ( _Jess_ ), and they go for coffee, simple, just like that.  
  
Jess is vibrant, bright; when they’re together, people don’t look at Sam, they look at her. She stands up straight, soaks up the attention with a grin. She’s five eleven, but she wears four-inch heels, and Sam falls in love.  
  
\----  
  
There’s ten days to go, and the problem is, Sam doesn’t know if his plan’s going to work. He doesn’t know what a soul is worth – at least, what it’s worth to anyone except _him_ \-- and the longer he thinks about it, the more absurd it seems that his should be worth enough to make this deal ( _to make_ any _deal_ ). He’s out of time, though, and there are no options, he’s been looking for three hundred and fifty-five days and there are _no options_. He stuffs the graveyard dirt in his pocket along with the keys to the Impala and casts a look back at Dean, sleeping on his front, hand curled under the pillow.  
  
There’s a marker on the table where Dean’s been circling weird obits ( _there’s only ten days to go, but they don’t talk about that_ ), and Sam picks it up for a moment, stands against the doorframe, pressing the back of his head against the wood.  
  
Dean mutters something in his sleep, and Sam blinks, then turns and kneels. Carefully, he obliterates the word _SAMMY_ , the childish capitals disappearing under black ink.  
  
He puts the marker back on the table, and leaves the room.  
  
\----  
  
It’s a sunny October day in senior year, and three people greet Sam as he passes them on the street. He nods and grins, rolls his eyes at the catcalls he gets from one of his soccer teammates, presents him with the finger. His legs are bare, running shorts shorter than anything he would normally wear, but he doesn’t care – he has nothing to hide.  
  
The jogging track winds through the park, broad and fairly empty at this time of day. Sam’s not there to jog, though. Sam’s there to _run_. He goes all out, his stride as long as his legs can make it, the track flying past underneath him, skin singing with the rushing air. He runs to beat the Devil, and right now, he’s pretty sure he could.  
  
\----  
  
When he finally gets the answer he’s been hoping for, the only thing Sam can think as he bends down to touch his lips to hers is _Jesus, did you have to pick someone so short? You’re too short._.   
  
The last thing he thinks is _I’m too tall_.


End file.
